Things We Do For Love
by Nals
Summary: Gianfranco S. Bernoulli is son of the great Francesco Bernoulli. Vivian Jane C. McQueen is daughter of respected racer Lightning McQueen. It's been a wild ride in their pasts. But now that things have settled, what other dangers lie in wait for them?
1. Chapter 1

_Alright __**Mere**__, this here is the story you asked for. xD Although I need a new name for it. :P_

_Oh, and I almost forgot: **Vivian Jane Carrera-McQueen belongs to MissCarrera(id:2944821). This character can be found in her story Family Tidings. :) I do NOT own Vivian, but I have requested permission for use.**_

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_**La Vita Di Amore**_**  
**(title pending)

_**Chapter One**_

Racing at jaw-dropping speeds has been one of my better talents. Going seventh gear on the straights has never gotten old, even with three years of experience behind me.

I'm testing my team's new Formula One engine at the end of the 2034 season, at the _Autodromo Nazionale di Monza_. It works great, but it still needs some tweaking. I head for the pit lane as I near the detour, and stop at my pit. I get out, and talk to my team before I head out to rest.

My family greets me as I head out of the pits: my mother, Marlene, my father, Francesco, and my aunt, Margo. They congratulate me on the track, commenting on my driving. As usual, my mother fusses over me, and my auntie leaves me alone. My father, on the other hand, is talking about how I handled the curves better than he did. Pride surges through me.

I don't believe I've introduced myself. My name is Gianfranco S. Bernoulli, son of the great Francesco Bernoulli and renowned writer Marlene Stevenson-Bernoulli. I'm 21 years old at this point in December. My aunt, Margo, is cousin of my mother's, which makes her my aunt-slash-godmother upon my confirmation(Google 'sacraments' and you'll know). My second cousin, daughter of my godmother/aunt, is nowhere to be seen, along with her father.

"Auntie, where's-?"

"She went off by herself, probably to tinker with the family car again," she said, almost exasperated. "Her father went off to look for her." I grinned. Ercilia was liker her mother and her father: always tinkering and talking about racing.

"Say, Franco," my aunt asks me as we walk to the cars, "ever thought of getting a girlfriend before?"

I almost choke on my mouthful of water. "Auntie, you have got to be joking," I say.

"I was just asking," she said, palms up for innocence.

"I won't have any of that love nonsense," I say. "I don't care what you or my parents say; I'm living the single life."

"Ooh, announced bachelor," she says. "Fine. You're missing out on life."

I shrug. That's what I like about my aunt. She's fun-loving and doesn't pry where she's not wanted, although I have heard that her curiosity killed the cat(her)-well, not actually kill, but you get the point.

I high-five my nineteen-year-old cousin, mussing up her hair as she exclaims happily. She's like her aunt and my mother, really: more boy than girl in there. In the years we've been together, it's like we're brother and sister, like my mother and hers.

"Got into trouble again, eh?" I say.

"Shut up," she growls, and I laugh. Her father is right where the cars are, wondering what his daughter did and how to fix it.

"Having trouble, hon?" my aunt calls.

"She busted the engine again." He flails his arms around, exasperated.

His wife laughs, and takes the tool from his hand, launching herself into mechanic mode. She tweaks a few things, and starts the engine. "She just tinkered with the transmission," she said, looking up at him with a smirk.

"I'm not stupid," he grumbled.

"I never said you were," she replied.

He grinned slightly and kissed her. Both me and my cousin cried 'eww' and the parents laughed.

"Come on guys; you want to be late for the party or not?" my mother calls, and I look to my cousin, who looks back at me.

"Mother!" Ercilia calls. "Can Franco stay with us?" She hasn't even asked me if I want to, but she's always dominant like that.

"Sure," Auntie says as she boards the sleek silver Audi A10 Cabriolet, 2030 model, with its three-section hard top down. She fits a pair of sunglasses over her eyes, and the afternoon sunlight glints off it.

I glance to my father, who's driving the red Ferrari California, also a 2030 model, with its top down. This new model is like the A10: a four-seater cabriolet with a hardtop, just that it's a Ferrari. A mix of the retired FF and the ongoing California, both Grand Tourers, is beautiful.

I slide into the rear seats of the executive car, and my parents lead the way back to the home.

My mother mentioned a party, right? Well, this year, my father is hosting another one of his parties; this time it's a Christmas party, inviting old friends and family to a buffet and an exchange of gifts. The exchanging was sent by email: a number must be picked by the person on the guest list, then the name given to that person for a gift to buy. numbers are checked off the list and not given anymore to the next person in line. It's a slow yet perfect process for people on the other side of the world.

We go home to prepare for the party that should occur tonight. Why I raced today was because one, it was urgent, and two, it was the only day each member of the team would be free. At least everyone in my team lives in Italy; it would be disaster if someone would miss the plane.

As I help my father cook-yes, I've inherited that from my father, and he doesn't really like catering unless it's some party he's pulled out of boredom-my mother, my cousin and her parents, along with our butler, Giacomo, fix up the tree and set up the tables.

Evening drops by, and people I've known for years and people I've just met arrive. While I tend to guests who have started to enjoy the music, food and drink, my parents play host along with Ercilia's, welcoming the guests at the door.

And then, Ercilia is tugging my arm towards the door. Luckily, I have just finished talking with someone, and I indulge my cousin as she pulls me away. There I find Lightning McQueen and his wife Sally.

"Uncle Lightning!" I call him, and we embrace. This man and his wife are good friends with my mother, and are potential godparents of mine at my baptismal.

"How's your old man, Franco?" he says with a pat on my back. "Hope he's not getting drunk again!"

I laugh. My father used to turn to wine when he felt like it. "Nope. He's still sober after all those years," I say.

"So this is young Ercilia," my Aunt Sally calls, eyeing my cousin beside me. "You were just a young girl when I last saw you," she says, embracing her. "Now you've grown to a pretty woman."

My cousin blushes. "Yeah, well," she laughs uneasily. She can't stand praise like that, but takes it to heart. "Thanks."

"Oh, have you met Vivian yet?" Aunt Sally says. "Viv, come out here," she calls, and she sidesteps to reveal a pretty girl in a sweater and jeans, protesting a little.

She has long, flowing golden brown hair, a result of my uncle's blond and my aunt's dark brown hair mixing up. She looks innocent and shy, with a sheepish smile. She's slender and fit, and just a few inches shorter than me. And her eyes…her eyes are blue-green.

And blue-green is my favorite color.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Mere:**__ Very much welcome. :) Well, it's kinda hard, balancing everything to meet my 'submit-a-chapter-everyday' quota, but I do it. And when I can't, at least you know I'm working on it. An thanks for the title btw, although it doesn't sound right. I'll have to rethink that, but I think I'll use yours for now. x3 And congrats on joining FFN! 8D_

_**Pancake3298**__: Yes, time flies so fast, really. This thing is, like, 20 years into the future, and I even made some special timeline for everything! xD . But I figured that, at the rate F1 and the modern world evolves and changes, it's not that so different. xD I don't really know; I'm not good with siblings, really. O.o I myself am an only child._

_To set things straight, Marlene and Margo are first cousins, connected by their fathers being brothers. So that makes Ercilia and Gianfranco second cousins because of their mothers. x3 Sorry for the confusion._

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_**Chapter Two**_

_(Vivian's POV)_

I stare around the unfamiliar surroundings. I don't know where I am or why I am here, but all I know is my father's friend is having a Christmas party. I blindly follow my parents because they're what keeps me from running for cover.

I don't really like crowds or parties. I'd rather stay and write stories or read books. I take after my mother really, and I want to be a lawyer someday, just like my mother. It's much better I stayed home, because I have never learned to be the life of the party, which is so unlike me because, as I am considered the great Lightning McQueen's daughter, I should be able to handle myself with confidence. Not really.

I've always cowered from the public eye. I don't have many friends; they're all on the other parts of the world. I talk to them because it's easier to talk when they can't see you. Love is out of the question; I can never really be able to stand up for myself in front of a guy.

"Viv, come out here," my mother says, and a gap opens between my parents as they introduce me to a friend. I fidget in protest, but she pulls me with her arm around me so I can't escape.

Instead of meeting the man's eyes, I simply tuck my hair behind my ear, looking somewhere else. But eventually, curiosity forces me to glance upward.

I'm amazed at the sight before me. He's like no other man I've seen.

I can imagine the build under the brown sweater he's wearing. I see his dark brown hair, the tips that spiked outward at the top turning golden brown in the warm white light. It's cropped at the sides, and only the front shows informality, and is only slightly cut. His arms, shown in the pulled-back sleeves, are strong and toned, like he's been working out. His smile earns him another from me, but it fades as he stares at me, and his lips are parted, like he's going to speak. In his eyes is disbelief, and I sadly look away.

He's never going to like me.

"Mother," I mumble, struggling from her hold, and she lets me go. She understands.

"Viv, this is Gianfranco S. Bernoulli," Dad says. "Son of your godparents Francesco and Marlene."

I only nod, still not meeting his eyes. "May I go?" I ask.

"Isn't that a little rude, Vivian?" my father growls at me.

I fidget, frustrated. "I don't want to…" My voice trails away.

"To what, dear?" Mother asks.

"I don't want to talk to anyone," I say finally. I don't want to hurt the man's feelings, but his face registers disappointment.

"Come on, Vivian; I'm sure the party will be fun," the younger girl beside him encourages.

"I don't need encouragement," I growl at her.

My mother slaps my arm. "Vivian!" she scolds, but I don't listen.

"That's alright, Auntie," the man in front of me says evenly. "I know when I'm not wanted." He turns. "Come on, Ercilia; let's see if we can find your father." With that, they slipped away.

"Vivian Jane!" my father growls. "That was incredibly rude!"

"But Dad, I don't want to talk to him," I say. "He doesn't want me."

He stares at me like I've grown a second head. "That's all? You think he doesn't want you?" he says. "Well, that's one of your more stupid excuses, right?"

"Dad, I'm-"

"You always say that!" he says. "You always say you're disinterested when there's a social event. You say people don't like you. And that's the reason people don't like you: because you don't make any effort to be interested," he says. "I'm disgusted with you, Vivian. I try my hardest to present you to the public like a lady and you just pull it down." He storms away.

"He's right, honey," my mother says. "This time, I can't help you."

"Some mother you are," I snarl at her, and leave.

I wander towards the table with drinks, and after picking up a mug of cocoa, I'm wandering again, this time towards a balcony that overlooked the town and its coastline.

I don't hear the footsteps behind me.

"It's more beautiful under the moonlight," a voice murmurs, and my head jerks around. It's the Bernoulli's son.

He has a glass of bubbling champagne in his hand, and he's walking casually towards me, his other hand in his pocket.

"Go away," I say, but he doesn't listen, and sides by me, his arm inches from mine.

"Vivian, please," he says, and I stare into warm brown eyes. I can't help feeling sweet and happy as I do so. "I just want to get to know you, just as I get to know Dad's other friends."

I look away from him. "I don't want you to," I murmur, my fingers tracing the tiled railing.

"Why not?" he asks.

Irritation fuels my anger. "I told you, I don't want you to get to know me!" I cry out. "Just go away and leave me alone!"

Surprise fills his eyes, followed by sadness. He glances away from my glare, but doesn't move from the spot. My anger fades bit by bit, until he answers. "Why are you so protective of yourself, Vivian?" His tone is insisting but soft and even.

My anger comes back to me even faster than I can truly comprehend. "Why are you insisting? Why do you want to know things about me? Do you think you can woo me like any other girl you try to woo?" I add, remembering a movie and a few of my friends' situations.

He's taken aback by the accusation. "Wha..? That's not what I'm doing!" he exclaims immediately.

"Well, it looks like it!" I say mindlessly.

This time, anger fills his gaze. "If you don't like me, then just say so," he growls at me, fire replacing the warmth that I liked. "You didn't have to be such a _cagna _about it." With one final glare he storms away.

I can feel the hurt in my chest. I don't want him to go. I never meant to hurt him. I just wanted him to back off.

And back off he did.


	3. Chapter 3

_As I wrote this, I was crying. Seriously._

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_**Chapter Three**_

_(Gianfranco's POV)_

"I told you, I don't want you to get yo know me!" she shrieks. "Just go away and leave me alone!"

I'm taken aback by the fact she doesn't like me.

Why won't she like me? I haven't done anything wrong! She's pushing me away before I can even get close enough. But I'm an insistent person; I'm like that with my cousin.

"Why are you so protective of yourself, Vivian?" I blurt gently.

It's the wrong thing to say, and she turns on me faster than I can go 0-60 miles. "Why are you insisting? Why do you want to know things about me? Do you think you can woo me like any other girl you try to woo?"

"Wha…? That's not what I'm doing!" I say right as she finishes.

"Well, it looks like it!" she says, her blue-green eyes fierce with anger.

Me, try to woo her? I was just trying to talk to her and give her some company, an area she clearly lacks in! But since she's so convinced by that fact, why not give up? Why doesn't she say so before I got hurt?

"If you don't like me, then just say so," I snarl low, my brows furrowing together in a frown. "You didn't have to be such a _cagna_ about it." I stalk back into the 'ballroom', almost throwing the fragile wineglass in my left hand to the pillar.

"Hey, cousin!" Ercilia says happily, then notices the mood I'm in, and lowers her voice. "What happened?"

Anger blinds me. How can that…that…excuse for a person…even try to accuse me of such a thing? It hurts so much, I can really feel it in my hand. I can feel the lump in my throat as the pain in my heart at the accusation overwhelms me.

"Gianfranco!" Ercilia gasps, and my eyes open.

Everyone is staring at me. No, wait, not at me. At my hand. I realize it's bleeding, the blood oozing from the cracks between my fingers, closed in a fist.

I have crushed the wineglass.

The shards of glass have, unfortunately, crossed my callouses and are embedded in my hand. Everyone is staring. My cousin is worried and pleading me softly to let go. My parents are rushing towards me, and a doctor in the family is with them.

At my cousin's words I release the pressure in my hand, and I can feel the pain now. It's agonizing. Lose shards drop to the marbled floor, and blood drips along with it. The doctor is examining my hand as my cousin's father holds Ercilia back, her mother burying her face in his shoulder, blocking her view of the gore. My own parents are beside themselves a little way away as the doctor asks for room.

The doctor then leads me to a quiet room where no one but my parents and my insisting cousin are with me. I can understand Aunt Margo though; she doesn't really like the sight of blood. In fact, she shies away and even faints from it.

"Oh, my baby," my mother cries over and over as I hold her on my right side as the doctor tries to remove the shards of glass from my hand. She's clutching my sweater so hard and she's really crying.

"_Hush, mother_," I say softly in Italian as I rub her upper arm, my face in her sweet-smelling hair. "_I'm going to be alright._" I know she wants to say I won't, but she knows that the doctor will fix me up just right.

My cousin is down on my feet, her head leaning on my right leg, her left arm around it. Judging from her slight gasping I know she's crying, too. I nudge my leg lightly to try to comfort her, and she just holds my leg closer. My father is watching the doctor work. I try adopting my father's confidence in the situation, but I know it should come from me, because I understand he's hurt form this, too.

When the last stitches are done I am released from the room, my father left to comfort my mother and his godchild, the doctor wandering around for company. My right hand still works, and I pick up another glass, this time of one of Dad's sweeter wines he chose for this party alone.

Margo approaches me—she's always insisted I call her in a first-name basis because she's uncomfortable being my aunt and all—and we talk. She's deeply concerned by what happened, and I trust her more than I trust my own mother.

"It's Vivian," I murmur as we are in another balcony, away from eavesdroppers. "I was just trying to make her feel comfortable because she's shy and all. You know some people want to be approached at first glance," I add, and she nods. "But then she said that I was trying to woo her, and I quote, 'like any other girl you try to woo'." I sigh, and the sadness blows over in tears. I wipe them with my bare wrist.

She holds me gently, affectionately, as I cry quietly.

It's so unfair to stereotype me like that, to call me a flirt when I'm not, to tell me that I'm trying to woo her _like I do with any other woman_. I don't mind the 'you can woo me' part, but to compare me to the line that followed is disturbing. I know some racers, like my father before me, flirt with women. I know that. I have heard lots of stories from the media about him being one of the most eligible bachelors in his time. But me? I've never been stereotyped like that in the news, gossip segments or talk shows.

People like Owen Wingfree, Day Loen, and Ella Genreader have interviewed me and showed me to the world in their talk shows. I told them—and the world—that 'I am an honest person. You can ask me just about anything and I'll answer it for you.' And they tell me in those segments their impressions of me: I _am _honest, I'm sweet and I'm not a flirt. I may be smooth with words, but never a flirt.

I blow into the handkerchief in my pocket—my cousin influenced that habit—and blew my nose.

Suddenly, my godparents Lightning and Sally are right behind us.

"We saw what happened," Sally says sadly. "We've been meaning to talk to you."

I wonder why.

"The last person you talked to before your cousin was Viv, right?" Lightning says. I nearly choke at the lump in my throat as I remember, and Margo rubs my back comfortingly. "Well, we talked to her, and we're sorry about what happened."

"We never really realized she would way that," his wife went on.

I swallow and look away from them. "I have no quarrel with you, Aunt, Uncle," I tell them in a flat tone. "You don't have to apologize." This time my voice is gentle, because I can't hold on to the strength I need for that kind of tone.

They nod. "All the same, Gianfranco," Sally says, and moves forward, stretching up to her toes slightly, to kiss my cheek affectionately.

There's a cough nearby, and I see the girl that has hurt me. The McQueens step aside, making way for their daughter and I to speak. My mother's cousin grips my hand tightly, and I return it. I need her strength now.

"I'm sorry," she starts, "that I hurt you." She's rubbing her arm, and it looks like she's doing it reluctantly. "I'm sorry that I—"

"You don't have to say sorry now," I say, my voice hard. I glare at her, and instead of hardness my tone is in a hurt growl. "Say sorry when you mean it." I release my aunt's hand, and stalk away.

"Gianfranco, please, I'm sorry!" she calls, reaching for my sleeve. As I feel her grip on it I jerk it away from her in anger, and she almost stumbles.

One thing that you shouldn't mess with me is my temper, just like my father.

"If this is one of your insults again, I don't want to hear it!" I snarl aloud.

"Please, Gianfranco, I didn't mean it!" she shouts, her eyes brimming with tears I can see now, glistening in the light. "I didn't' mean to hurt you! I just…I'm just…." Then she's sobbing her heart out. I feel myself weakening, but I don't submit until I get an explanation.

"I never meant to cause any real harm," she cries out, her face in her hands. "I…I don't know how to handle myself around someone else. There's so much to explain to you, Gianfranco, but I just…I just can't."

"Why, Vivian?" I ask. "Why not?"

"Because…because…." She's at a loss for words, and she's stopped crying to think. "Because I'm not sure of myself," she says finally.

She's given me a reason to soften, and I do. I give in to the voice that pleads me to hold her, to comfort her. I take off my sweater because she's shivering, and wrap it around her. She's looking up at me now, her beautiful blue-green eyes tinged with hope.

"Come inside," I say softly. "It's cold."

I help her to her feet, and together we re-enter the 'ballroom'. As we settle in a quiet corner of the my grand home—well, in my room, actually—we talk.

"Why are you so protective of yourself, Vivian?" I ask softly, curiosity thick in my voice. "Why hate me when I haven't done anything to you?"

Her voice is quiet as she leans against me, her head on my shoulder. "Because of something that's happened to me."


	4. Chapter 4

_Sorry it took so long guys. O.o This is basically a filler for you, so move on if you don't want Viv's point of view. :)_

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_**Chapter Four**_

_(Vivian's POV)_

As I hate myself, I hear the breaking of a glass, then silence. Voices are then heard, echoing to the outside, and I recognize the name.

It's Gianfranco's.

I rush to the scene before I even realize it, my mug of cocoa left alone. I strain to see what has happened when I find my parents.

"Mom, Dad, what happened?" I ask urgently.

"It's Gianfranco's hand," Mother says shakily. "He's crushed his wineglass."

My father then turns on me. "What did you do?" he growls. I understand because he's very affectionate with his godkid, but I can't help feeling a little jealous because he's supporting someone other than his own daughter.

"I didn't—"

"_What did you do?_" He's mad now, and he hisses the question with such ferocity he's never shown me before.

"I told him to leave me alone," I start in a scared, squeaky voice.

"Tell me _everything_," he snarls.

"I asked him why he as insisting to let me tell him about me, and if he thinks he can woo me like any other girl he tries to woo!" I blurt in one breath.

My mother gasps, and my father is dumbfounded. "What?" I ask defensively. "Isn't that what all racers do?" I cup my hands over my mouth. I have just said the worst thing _ever_.

I can see my father trying to restrain himself as he closes his eyes, his arms rigid at his sides. My mother tries to soothe him, but it doesn't work. Tears spring from my eyes but don't fall. Yet.

"This is the main reason why you should socialize, Vivian Jane," he says in an almost-murmur. there's enough fury in his voice to have me scurrying for cover like a mouse. "This is why we always let you alone during an event." He glares at me, and I can tell he's so hurt his eyes are glistening. He winces thoughtfully, then just turns away from me.

"Dad, I'm sorry!" I call, trying to take a hold of his arm, but he's out of my reach in a millisecond. "Father, please!"

"Leave him, Vivian," my mother says. I can see her eyes are glistening slightly. She hurries off towards my father, who has disappeared into the dispersed crowd, leaving me alone.

I'm so stupid. Now I understand why my parents want me to go out more. I don't know what to say sometimes, and even if I do, I don't know what effect it would make on the other party's heart.

I rub my arm as I sulk in a corner. I didn't mean it. I didn't mean to hurt anyone. I never meant to cause harm. But I've done it, and they think I mean it.

That's the thing I really hate most around people: they don't think the way I do. I don't want to change the way I think because that's the only way I can understand things, and the only way I can understand myself. But that's what my parents are telling me: not everyone can see the way you do.

I shake my head in frustration. I will _not_ change the way I think, even if it is immature.

But I walk towards the balcony, where my parents are talking to someone. I try figuring out how to apologize to my father, and start with a cough.

Turns out they're talking to Gianfranco, and I have to revise everything so it can be perfect.

That's another thing about me: I'm some kind of perfectionist. I can never be myself if something is out of place.

"I'm sorry," I start softly, my hand still on my arm and my head bent in shame, "that I hurt you." I'm nervous, and I never expected to say sorry to Gianfranco in the first place. But I can't back out now. "I'm sorry that I—"

"You don't have to say sorry now," he says, and I look up at him. The whites of his eyes are pink, and his expression is frustrated and hurt. "Say sorry when you mean it." And he strides past me.

I act automatically. "Gianfranco, please, I'm sorry!" I call out as I reach for his sleeve. I have a tight hold, but he jerks his arm with such power I'm thrown off my feet for a second. He turns on me.

His voice is stronger and more powerful than my father's. Much, much more powerful. "If this is one of your insults again, I don't want to hear it!" he roars.

Tears are falling form my eyes now, and I can feel them cold on my cheeks as they stream towards the ground. "Please Gianfranco, I didn't mean it!" I cry out. "I didn't mean to hurt you! I just…I'm just…." I don't like this. I don't like being the weakest person in the room. I don't like crying my heart out or tell other people anything about me. I cry as insecurity washes over me, my face in my hands, pitiful sniffling echoing in my ears. But I have to be strong, because he can't understand.

"I never meant to cause any real harm," I repeat. "I…I don't know how to handle myself around someone else." The words come naturally, and I realize the affection in my voice. "There's so much to explain to you, Gianfranco, but I just…I just can't."

"Why, Vivian?" he says, tone hushed but urgent. "Why not?"

"Because…because…." I try searching for words. _Great._ Now I have to give some reason because of my heart's stupidity. "Because I'm never sure of myself."

My face drops to my hands once more because I know the next thing he'll do is to leave me alone in the snow. But he doesn't. Instead he's kneeling over me, his warm sweater over me, and that's when I realize how much of my body warmth has gone into the center of my body. I look up at him, and I sort of know he's forgiven me, but still.

His voice is so gentle and loving it makes my head dizzy. "Come inside," he says. "It's cold."

He slowly gets to his feet, my hands in his, and I follow. We skirt the crowd and head upstairs to what I guess is his room.

His quarters is lightly scented with something like mint, with a slight interference of wood, as most of his furniture—chairs, bed, closet—is not antique, but they are of timber. It's more colorful than mine, and is clean and devoid of any messes. His desk is cluttered with books and a full-scale desktop sits in the side though, and I realize he's also a student. There is not a gaming system around, or a television, or even a sign of a handheld game. He has shelves full of books—you could call it a mini-library—and I'm so amazed by the fact he reads a lot. My room is much, much smaller, even if you count my father as a prestigious race car driver.

He settles me on his bed and reaches into his closet for another sweater. As I peek past the doors I see a lot of clothing—much more than I have, once again—and I catch a jacket with a lot of patterns, and I figure it's his racing jacket. He closes it before I get a better look, though, and sits close beside me. I lean my head on his shoulder, and eventually I realize he's so warm I just lean my whole body against him his arm has to go around my back.

It's him who speaks first. "Why are you so protective of yourself, Vivian?" His voice is soft and curious. "Why hate me when I haven't done anything to you?"

My own voice takes on the same softness. "Because of something that's happened to me."


	5. Chapter 5

_Alright, fifth chapter. ^o^_

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**_Chapter Five_**

_(Gianfranco's POV)_

"I used to have a…relationship with someone, really," she murmured. "It's not like boyfriend-girlfriend, as in you actually commit to it. It was much, much looser, like mutual understanding. We were happy together, and I loved him very much.

"I was young and innocent then, not even sixteen yet. I used to be outgoing and happy, like my parents."

"What happened?" I say immediately. She has my full attention.

"Well, there was one day that we were at school together. There's this foreign exchange student, a girl. Our school doesn't have a uniform but encourages modesty, but that day was her first, and she was dressed in the shortest shorts and the lightest tank top I've ever seen.

"The next day, he was gone. I tried talking to him, but he was mad at me for not trusting him. I was taken aback, because he started the situation in the first place, and he broke up with me, right then and there.

"When you go and find love or friendship, you tell them about yourself. You open your heart to them. Well, that's what I did to him.

"Two days after our breakup, everyone started laughing at me. I never knew why, but as I heard murmurs in the hall, I know he's told them about my secrets. _All _my deepest, darkest secrets.

"People have turned on me. My teachers are hearing things about me. My friends have dumped me for others. My 'boyfriend' is gone. Everything I had in my social life, gone in two days. And I haven't even died yet."

She's sniffling now, and my other arm is around her front as I bring her to my chest. "You don't have to talk if you don't want to," I tell her gently.

I understand her situation, but what kind of idiot would do such a thing as this? I mean, Vivian is such a sweet person once you get to know her a little more than the shell of the woman she is now. I don't believe that guy is in his right mind, and I will kill him when I get the chance.

But she goes on. "I resorted to sim sites that have people who don't really know me or see my face. I lose my appetite. My parents are worried but I don't tell them about what has happened. Until my father had enough.

"I told them everything, from that day the foreign exchange student set foot in the classroom. I wanted to kill her the moment Reuben declared us over.

"But how can I? He wants her, and he looks at her like she's the greatest thing on earth. He talks to her like they're mates, and kisses her like he's been waiting for her a long time. It kinda makes sense, too, because I have never had my first kiss."

My hand is rubbing her back as she breaks down onto my sweater, and I promise I will have my revenge on that good-for-nothing asshole.

"It's going to be alright, Vivian," I murmur into her sweet-smelling hair. "He's not here now."

She quiets down after a while, and we stay there for a while longer. She asks if she can lie down, and her head settles on my lap, her feet just past the footboard. My hand strokes her golden brown hair as she stares into space, her fingers playing with mine on my other hand. I smile slightly, affectionately.

"I'm sorry for earlier," she murmurs, and I almost don't catch it.

"That's alright," I whisper back. "You don't have to beat yourself up for it."

She nods quietly, and we're silent for a few more minutes, until she speaks.

"Gianfranco?"

"Yes?"

"I love you."

My skin tingles. It's the first time someone's ever said that to me, especially a girl I just met. I don't know how to react.

She sits up to stay close to me, my left hand claimed by hers, and after she examines my hurt hand she looks up at me expectantly.

I still don't know how to react as her beautiful blue-green eyes are fixed on mine. My lips part speechlessly as I see how beautiful she looks when she's not mad at me, and my mind leaves my body.

_Mio dio._

She snickers slightly, and I shake my head, coming back to reality. "What?" I ask.

"You're cute when you're speechless," she says, smiling widely for the first time.

I blush heavily, my cheeks tingling, and she just hugs me tightly, rubbing her cheek lightly against my chest. My arms are around her, and my hold tightens.

It's only then that the wooden door opens and my parents and Vivian's are standing there at the threshold.

We look up but don't break apart.

My uncle Lightning just leans his forearm on the doorknob with a smirk on his face. "And I thought you didn't like Gianfranco?" he said, and the rest of us laugh.

"I—er—changed my mind," she says sheepishly, releasing me as we laugh, then glances at the carpet.

"Come on, Viv; time to go home," her mother says.

Her gaze flicks upward like lightning. "But Mother!" she protests.

Her mother smirks like her father. "Don't tell me you don't want to go," she said. "You seemed eager to get back to your laptop when we first arrived."

"Not anymore," she blurts, and I'm amazed at her confidence. "I want to stay." It's then that she covers her mouth and covers her whole face as she bends down to hide herself.

I look to the McQueens eagerly as my hand rests on her back. They exchange glances and smiles, and the master of the family says aloud, "Alright."

She bolts up again with a smile on her face. Boy, is she fickle.

"Seriously?"

"Would I say so if it wasn't?" her father shoots back affectionately, and she jumps up to hug her dad, saying 'thank you' over and over and over in ecstasy.

"Are you willing to take her in?" Auntie Sally asks my mother.

"Sure," Mother says, and glances at me. "So long nothing stupid happens."

I give myself a facepalm as they laugh. My cousin jumps out from behind them, and hugs me.

"Mom and Dad tell me I can stay!" she squeaks. "For the vacation, at least," she adds, and her parents are right behind mine.

"Took me a long time to figure out what she wanted, too," her father says gruffly in his European accent, and his wife laughs lightly. "Do you know how much she's been pestering me the whole time we've been here?" he asks her.

"I can imagine," she says, and he kisses her hair slightly.

"Dad!" my cousin moans as the affectionate gesture hits her vision. I guffaw at her and she gives me a bear hug that's real tight my ribs start hurting.

My cousin never really liked her parents to be all lovey-dovey in front of her. But I don't mind mine.

"So this is your cousin," Vivian says, twiddling her finger in front of her nose slightly, and Ercilia makes like a little kitty.

* * *

_Alright, since there's been a slight confusion on this chapter, 'kitty' IS the end of the chapter. :) Vivian will explain in the later chapter. 83_


	6. Chapter 6

_The long-awaited Chapter Six. xD_

_I swore to myself I wouldn't tinker with Mater and Holley, but here it is. :/ Well, what can I do? xD_

* * *

_**Chapter Six**_

_(Vivian's POV)_

So, my parents are also invited to stay in the Bernoulli home as I am to celebrate with their friends for the first time in years, really. They have called my Uncle Mater and his wife, Holley, to tell hem we wouldn't be home for Christmas, just for this year, they suppose. My uncle was, of course, crestfallen, but nonetheless, it was only for about a week or two. Ercilia and her parents stay as well, because the Bernoulli home is big enough to support even the whole of Radiator Springs. And yes, maybe my Aunt Marlene offered her cousin a room or two to stay in, just as me and my parents were offered to do so. In the night I've spent talking with the two cousins, now considered my new friends, I have known a few things about them.

In the home, now that Franco is old enough, it is Franco who is the breadwinner—or at least a part, since his father is still in the team as crew chief, in honor of his 'father', Giuseppe Motorosi, who has happily retired. He also has taken over most of the chores in the home, like things in the kitchen, rooms, garage, and so on. Their 'helper', Arianna, comes by to do a few he can't handle, like the bath or the carpets, but everything she does is at a minor or smaller scale than Franco, who is grateful for the help. The reason for this is because his parents want to prepare him for the days he'll have to leave and live without them. Seems odd for a 25-year-old, right?

Not really. Ercilia's mother had come in to be some sort of chaperone—but she didn't have to because Ercilia is such a tattletale, but even so, she is a great storyteller, telling us things from the Philippines, what happens there, why she left, things in her experience. And in the Philippines, it is customary for them—or at least, in her household—for the children to start early on learning how to be independent. At least, that was what her parents taught her. Before anything else, she had to do things as usual—do the dishes, fix the room, do as much as she can and do as she's told—before she can go and play. She had recommended this upbringing to my godmother Marlene, and here Franco is, with a well-rounded personality.

Ercilia is sweet and active. She takes after her mother in terms of personality and interest, and takes after her father in terms of physical appearance, having pretty green eyes and long, dark brown wavy hair. She can be very childlike despite her age at times(she's nineteen) like when she's toying around with her cousin, but is also has a very mature head, thinking independently and creatively. She loves tinkering with her parents' cars—an Audi A10 cabriolet, which is the family car, her mother's silver Ferrari 458 Italia, and her father's retired golden racing grand tourer in which no one can really identify its make and model. Her forte in academics is language(not necessarily literature, but she loves to read) and science in general. She is affectionate with her family, especially her cousin.

Gianfranco isn't much on English, but adores Italian, although he is fluent in both languages. He's more into Physics than in any other field of science. He's equally creative though, because of the few original cookbooks he's published(he's got a few in his room, too!). He takes things in a scientific approach like his cousin. He ay drive and cook and look like his father, but he's got the brains and eyes of his mother. So generally, they both look like brother and sister, because they have the same green eyes. I was startled to really see the similarities as they sat there, me scrutinizing every little similar detail. It was _cool_.

As for me—well, after Ercilia and Franco used their way of knowing what I'm good at—(they say)I'm more creative, even if I do want to be a lawyer like my mother. They recommend a fine arts program or course. My mother, being a lawyer, is a critical thinker, but my father is sort of more crafty, sneaky and creative.

Want to know what sort of test they do? They say it's not official though, but it's a small basis, really, and that you shouldn't really believe in it, but most of the time, it's really true. If you can draw something well, like a dragon or a building, they you're artistic. If you know how to use a wrench better than a simple spatula, then you're somewhat mechanical or technical. If you like figuring things out, you're still technical, because you can solve problems. What you do everyday contributes to what you want in the future, as well as who you are. At least, that's what the two of them say.

I sleep in a different room from everyone else except Ercilia, to save space, you know? I mean, even if the house is more like a palace with a twenty rooms, the Bernoulli's believe in conserving energy. You know, eco-friendly thing? Not really bad, though; I could use her company. She's an even better friend than those in my batch.

"So, how do you like it here?" she asks.

I almost forgot: even if she was born in Spain, has more blood or lines of a European, she speaks with the voice of a _Filipina_, or a female Filipino. In the English language, I have heard that when a _Pinoy_ speaks it, it's kind of loose and not high-strung like your usual American. Not with rolling r's or with big 'o' sounds, but just like any other English speaker that's not necessarily American. It's hard to explain. Her mother is a perfect example.

"It's better than back home, I guess." I brush out my hair. "There's nothing much to do back in RS." A question pops into my head. "So, how does it feel to have dual citizenship?"

She's not uninformed about that. "Well, it's nice, I suppose. But I don't even get to use it." She grins as she, too, brushes her wet hair.

I smile with her. "have you seen what it's like in the Philippines? Is it better than Spain?"

"Well, not necessarily. It's hotter down there, in the lower northern hemisphere, the lowest you can get in the city should be about 26 or 29, in Celsius. Mama says it's much, much better in Europe, although she's had to deal with allergies to the cold for a few months or so."

Eww. I hate allergies.

"Well, so does Mama," she says.

I nod. "And back in your dad's place?"

"It's kinda warm," she says. "I mean, it's southern Europe, for crying out loud. It shouldn't be any warmer there than here in Italy. It's cold, that's for sure."

"Have you seen snow?"

"Yup." She stares at me. "My mama hasn't seen snow until at least her twenties, you know that?"

"What?" I gasp. That's impossible!

"Nothing's impossible," she shrugs. "I mean, most of the poor people we saw in the Philippines don't even get to see snow, much less see or hear of it in the movies or elsewhere."

I gape. No way.

"Yeah," she agrees. "My mother's not too fond of snow, though."

I cock my head to the side. "Why not?"

"Cold, remember?" she reminds me.

I nod, understanding. "But Spain doesn't have snow, right?"

"The hell it does," she exclaims, eyes wide with disbelief.

"Sorry; I'm not a jet-setter," I snap.

"I didn't mean to offend, but I was just surprised," she replies. "Come on; even you were surprised a lot of people don't really see snow in their entire lives."

I nod. She has a point. That's another thing about Ercilia: she can convince you in just about anything, with just the right amount of proof and research.

"So, any third language?" I ask.

"Filipino. Just a little. My mother taught me the basics."

"Is it any harder than learning Spanish?" I ask.

"Sort of. It's like any other foreign language: there are many forms of a verb in every situation." She grins.

"When did you learn?"

"Since I was able to speak and understand, I guess." She makes a face. "I think I was about ten or something." She looks at me. "What about you? Any second language?"

"Nope," I say, ashamed. "American all the way."

"Any dreams to do so?"

"Not really."

She eyes me. "Italian?"

I give a sheepish chuckle. "How'd you know?"

"'Not really' is not the same as 'no'." She grins. "And besides, you love my cousin, remember?"

I grin and throw a pillow gently at her. She squeaks in laughter. "Shut up," I say, smiling shyly.

She hoots as she sees my flushing cheeks. "So, what about him, huh?" She lays her front on the pillow I gave her, chin on her hands as she looks at me with interest.

"Only if you promise not to tell," I condition seriously. "I want to tell him myself."

"I'll likely forget," she swears, and I start.

"Well, he's sweet and understanding, really." The words come pouring out as I think of the man with green eyes. "He knows what he wants, that's for sure. He won't take no for an answer. He's smart. He's a great dresser," I add, and she laughs. "He cooks like a real, world class chef, and probably has the taste buds of one. He knows more things than I do," I admit shyly. "And in my opinion, he's more loyal than my other…friends."

Her ears prick at the pause at the title, and I tell her my sad story. She nods.

"My mother told me things like that once," she says. "She hasn't many friends in her school years; just about two or three or so. It's only when Franco's mother introduced Mama to the rest of the family and friends, and…I guess that's when she and Dad met…or somewhere along that time." She looks up thoughtfully, then confirms it, still unsure.

I give a chuckle. "Do you have any friends?"

"Well, there's you," she starts. "A lot of people think I'm loud as I take after my mother, remember? So they don't really…like me that much, but I'm an accepted batchmate." She shrugs.

I nod. I'm learning so many things I've never even heard of before. Like friendship.

"So, any thought of you and Franco?" she questions.

She laughs as I pretend to be offended. "We'll see," I say. She doesn't know.* "I mean, you remember my story earlier, right?" She nods. "Well, it's a littler hard to even be with a friend, so I think I'll weigh my chances first." She nods again in understanding, and silence ensues until another question comes to mind. "How come you speak English like an American when you've learned Filipino and Spanish, or even if more than half your blood is Spanish?"

She stares at me with thoroughly open eyes. "My mother is Filipino. She speaks it back in her home very much, yet she speaks English like it's her first language." She shrugs. "Practice, I guess."

I grin. It's amazing.

The door bursts open, and Franco's head pops in. "Not sleepy yet?"

"No," Ercilia says, rolling over onto her back like a puppy. Another childlike moment. "Can you stay with us?" she asks in a squeaky, pleading voice.

He laughs. "No."

"Pwease?" She flashes her pretty green eyes.

"Oh, fine," he says, and runs off to come back with a pillow. "But you have to move over."

"Yay!" she squeaks as she makes room in the twin bed. He settles in beside her. The beds are to the walls, so she picks the far side, to the wall.

"What have you been talking about?"

"Nothing!" she blurts out immediately. "Just family lines, whatever."

He grins as she gives him a hug. Did I mention we were all in pajamas and not nightgowns? Thank the Lord I didn't bring any of that; I'd cry then and there.

"Now go to bed," he says, "and not another sound. It's late."

"After a party, it's always late," she says, turning to the wall as Franco dims the lights a little. "Well, good night, Viv."

"G'night," I reply, then turn to Franco. "She's amazing."

"Thank you," Ercilia says, and her cousin nudges her gently with his foot. She murmurs and ouch, and he rolls his eyes.

"I know."

It's nice in the room. For one, it's quiet. And it only adds to the beauty of his voice. I mean, it's like a mix of an Italian voice in an English one, and it's amazing, just like Ercilia's mother. It's soft and flowing, not stopping like any foreigner.

It's quiet for a moment, as I don't know what to say.

"I heard you earlier," he murmurs. "About me."

I blush, and I can see he sees it. "Sorry," I apologize immediately.

"What's to be sorry about?" he says. "I liked it." He grins at me.

I smile back, shyly, and settle down onto my pillows. "Oh, I believe you have an extra pillow there."

He slaps Ercilia, and I can hear his pal connect with hers sharply. "Whaat?" she groans.

"Give back her pillow," he growls, and she shoots it over the space.

"Thanks," I say.

"I love you, too," he says, and I can see him smiling at me, lips over his teeth this time.

I smile, and take heart to that as the lights go out.


	7. Chapter 7

_Alright you guys, this is just something I got kicked into, and 'Mysterious' isn't really a name; it's a shadowy enemy. This chapter has a few charas mixed into them, tho._

_Filler chapter, people, but chapter all the same. ^-^_

* * *

_**Chapter Seven**_

_(Mysterious boy's POV)_

"So, why have you dragged me here?" I ask the man in green.

"I overheard you talking earlier," he says.

I roll my eyes. It's not funny to drag a plotting guy somewhere. I don't even know this guy! "So?"

"So, I know where that girl of yours is," he says.

"How should you know? The press have been keeping their whereabouts a secret!"

"Asked personnel there myself," the guy in green snarls. "They're in Italy."

I gape. "Italy? That's, like, a plane ride away!"

"Yeah, but when you're rich, it's no big deal."

I eye him suspiciously. "Who are you?"

He grins. "A racer's worst nightmare."

And then, I'm on a plane ride to Italy, one of the better places for romance. The guy in green has asked me to pack whatever I can carry and go. In about a day, we're underway.

"So, what's the plan?" I ask.

"We go in," he says.

"Just like that?" I exclaim in a hushed voice. "Are you crazy?"

"Of course not!" he growls.

"So, what do you want with the most prestigious racer in America?" I ask.

"What do you want with his daughter?" he shoots back.

"I want her back," I say. "That's all I want. You?"

"It's…personal. We have business to settle."

I eye him again. "You sure are a weird dude," I say. "But I've got no business with that."

He nods and pats my shoulder. "Thanks, fellow. And by the way, what's your name?"

"Craig. Craig Summers."

* * *

_(Mysterious girl's POV)_

"That bitch is sooo dead," I hissed at my friends, and they murmur agreement. "That vixen's got no right to snatch my boyfriend like that!" I rant on and on, and soon get tired as my belly hurts.

My name is Alessandria de Vonaire. Back in my high school, I was the object of my boyfriend's affections, even leaving his old girlfriend to have me. It was so heroic. I didn't mean to snatch him away, but what could I do? I was given anything I wanted, and I receive anything I want in a snap. Can I help it if I was raised like that?

I sip my beer again, and my friends say no, but I don't care. All I want to do is to just get drunk.

My parents have forbidden me on thing, though: to abort the baby. Yes, I am pregnant. About six, seven months in. Bastard got me knocked up, then when we found out, he broke up with me, telling me that bitch of a girl was better than I ever was. Asshole.

"Who're you going to get back to?" my friend asks me.

I set down my glass. "The bitch," I say. "And she's in Italy, so whatever."

They gasp. "How do you know?"

I look at them like it's obvious. "Don't you remember I have a spy?"

They give 'ohhh's of understanding, and say I'm a smart heck of a girl.

"So let's get her."


	8. Chapter 8

_The Block is coming._

* * *

_**Chapter Eight**_

_(Gianfranco's POV)_

The next day, the three of us are going out for a drive in the Bernoulli family car: the beloved Ferrari California. We tour Porto Corsa and the nearby towns within Genoa, saving the rest of the next day. I invite Vivian to stay in front, while Ercilia stays in the back, listening to her music. She likes imagining her original characters, dragons, running around and doing stunts to the beat of songs. Peculiar? Yes. Weird? Not for the both of us.

It's snowing, really. Not so much fun for us because I seriously want the top down and to watch Vivian's golden-brown hair get caught in the wind. I want her to enjoy the spices of life, like our California. I suggest going out for lunch, but Vivian insists she taste more of my original dishes. I laugh, exhilarated by her request, and she blushes shyly, but I say it's a perfectly normal request.

"Sometimes I get invited to talk shows to do a demo," I say. "They say it's because of the books they've tried, but could never perfect, or of the reviews my books get." I shrug. "I do a demo, and a lucky, random person in the audience gets a taste. Sometimes they even request something weird for me to do, like a version of scrambled eggs.

"I'm creative when cooking is what they said. They say I can turn something simple to something spectacular."

"You're that good?"

"Not really. My father taught me things, and, well, I guess I inherited it."

There were a lot of things I told her, from childhood memories with my family to memories with friends. And that was the moment I told her about my relationships, too.

"I had a girlfriend once," I say. "Took my first kiss, too." I'm sure she's shocked, but she's interested.

"What happened?" she asks softly.

"She dumped me, as usual," I say with a shrug.

"Why?"

"She didn't like me, I guess."

There was a painful silence before she spoke. "Do you still love her?"

I stop the car, shocked, then give her a look of pure disbelief. "Vivian, when I say I love you, I mean it." She's just staring at me, and Ercilia is looking on with interest. "There's no sense living in the past. You may learn things from previous mistakes, but there is no reason why you should stay there. I mean, time goes on. You don't get any younger just sitting there and skulking." We head for home, moving again.

"I'm sorry," she says sadly. "I didn't mean to."

I take her wrist, and it slides down to her hand, where my fingers can lace with hers. "You don't have to say sorry," I say. "A lot of people are and were like that. My mother was."

She nods. I'm guessing she knows her father is involved in that.

"Franco?" she murmurs.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks." I glance at her for a moment in acknowledgement. "For everything."

I smile, and release her hand so I can effectively turn right to enter and park in the garage.

That evening, Ercilia is still in the bath and I'm waiting for her to get out. As I do so, I settle on the bed, right beside Vivian as we talk. She's also waiting for Ercilia to get out because all her stuff is in there.

"So, any plans for tomorrow?" she asks.

"No idea," I say. "May as well let things flow."

She smiles. I do so, too.

"It's nice here," she says. "Warm and comfortable."

I nod as I peruse the room. She scoots closer to my side, and we're just like we were yesterday. My arm slides around her waist, pulling her closer, and her hands claim my left.

"Did you know I'm left-handed?" I murmur thoughtlessly.

"Really?"

"Ercilia's mother is, too," I add. "Must be a hidden gene in the family."

She nods. "I think it's great you're left-handed."

I smile, still staring at her hands. "You don't think it's crazy?"

"Well, not everyone is right-handed," she says, "although you're the first I've met that's left-handed."

I was shocked, but she only smiled. I stared at her, and within moments she was staring up at me, blue-green eyes looking up in wonder as she searched my brown depths.

Damn me. Why? Because I bent down to press my lips against hers.

I was surprised her lips were soft, not to mention gentle. She drew a sharp breath, and pressed against me, quite hard, actually, and I drew back, thinking she was offended. Well, I was wrong, because when I stared into her eyes, she was disappointed. I chuckled, lips pulling over my teeth, and bent down once more.

I moved her onto my lap so she can have better access to me. Her hands were in my hair, mine around her waist, holding her there as she straddled my hips slightly. Her tongue hastily sought entrance to things behind my teeth, and I gave a soft moan as her tongue collided with mine. My grip on her red sweater tightened, and I was pulling her close. Her arms were tight around my neck, enthusiastic, and a little sound escaped her lips, resonating in my ears.

_She likes it._

It was like that for a while, until she pulled back slightly to whisper my name, only to press against me again, shutting me up. I was ecstatic, and I was acting on instinct alone. So I didn't think I should pay attention to the background.

Wrong answer.

"_Gianfranco!"_ I heard someone screech, and my mother and my father was at the door, and Viv's parents came rushing to the scene.

I pulled away, almost jumping out of my skin, and looked at my mother and the rest of the faces standing at the door.

"Vivian!" Sally called. "That was uncalled for!"

Caught red-handed.

"Erm, I, er, I can explain!" Vivian squeaked.

"But not in front of Ercilia!" my mother screeched again. It's only then when I noticed Ercilia was right on her bed, brushing her hair.

"Hi," she squeaked. "They weren't doing anything," she told them bluntly.

"But she was—"

"It was my fault," she admitted. "I told her one of my friends' battle tactics." She grinned widely. "Cool, eh?"

I could tell our parents were fuming.

"Calm down, people," Ercilia waved away. "I'm here, remember? They wouldn't do such a thing to my face." They stared at my cousin, who was calmly brushing her wet hair. It was about time Vivian stepped off my lap. "And besides, they're above legal age of consent," she added. "So it's pretty much legal."

But my parents wouldn't allow it, I know that. Not before I am married. Irritation sparks a snap.

"I'm not stupid, Mother, Father," I hiss. "I know what I'm doing."

They glare at me one last time before they go, but not without calling me to the chopping block. Just before I leave, my hand strokes Viv's cheek and I turn to walk out.

"You had no right!" my Uncle roars. "You had no right to do that to my baby girl!"

"But if her former boyfriend did just that, would you flay him alive, too?" I ask calmly. I know I'm on the winning side, because their anger is irrational. Lightning just stands there, unable to reply. "You saw how Vivian acted. You never heard her scream for help. She wasn't struggling in my hold."

This time, the Caminos have joined in. "Alright, what happened?" Margo says, and I explain.

She's not mad, but agrees with me. "Ercilia is right; she's well above the age of consent," she says. "However," she turns to me, "I can understand their concern because Vivian is a girl. She's innocent. And if anything ever happened to Ercilia—"

"—I _will _flay him alive," my uncle Miguel continues in a snarl.

"So you're good, really, but don't try anything stupid," Margo says, patting me on the back.

"Just like that?" Sally says, going into hysterics. "Franco should stay away from her!"

"Sally, you know you can't do that," Margo soothes. "Vivian is as mature as Ercilia, and is as smart."

"But to have that…." She trailed away, horror in her green gaze. She sighs, and Margo just hugs her tightly.

"I feel you, honey, but sometimes, you just have to let go." She stares into her friend's eyes, and Sally gives her okay. Margo then turns to me, and slaps me.

"Hey!" I cry.

"That's for being a little stupid," she says.

I rub my arm, glaring at her as she soothes my parents next. And when they leave, she returns to me. "Nice job," she says teasingly.

I shrug. She pats my shoulder one last time before she goes of with my Uncle. My eyes follow them, and she pulls him by the collar before the door slams shut with a thud. I shake my head. My Aunt is so fickle.

I return to the room to see Vivian crying. In an instant, I rush towards her.

"Whoa, hey," I say soothingly. "What's the matter?"

"I'm…I'm so sorry I caused you such trouble," she says between gasps.

"What? No, Viv, don't cry, it's alright," I say soothingly as she cries into my sweater.

"That's the last time I stick up for you guys," Ercilia growls. "Next time I should tell." She stands to leave the room.

I continue stroking her soft golden-brown hair, press my face into it and finding the scent of her sweet shampoo. She murmurs a lot of apologies, which I am powerless to stop. It's minutes before she settles down.

"Are you alright?" I murmur as she lifts her head. She nods, slowly but surely. "Why don't you go take a bath already?" She shakes her head, and she sits there quietly.

"I love you," I murmur, hoping to get a reaction from her, but there's nothing. My heart hurts suddenly.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"It's our parents," she says. "It's like they don't want us to be together."

I gasp. "That's not true!"

"You heard them," she murmurs, sniffling. "You heard what they said when your parents called you."

"Oh, Vivian, that's not true," I say as I take her hands in mine.

She shakes her head. "We can't be, Franco, if our parents won't let us."

It's always her parents! What is she, bound by their laws forever?

"You're 25, Vivian!" I cry out to her, eyes pleading. "You're an adult."

"Tell that to them," she says.

"No, Vivian please—"

"Go away, Gianfranco." Her voice is hard as she pushes me away. "I don't want you."

I choke audibly as a lump in my throat forms. She's serious.

"Please," I beg her, but she turns away from me.

"Go away," she says finally, and I am, once again, powerless, this time by her will.

My hands fall limply to my sides. "You can't always be bound by your parents, Vivian," I whisper, swallowing hard. "Sometimes you have to make a choice."

I stand, then stagger out the door. I see my Uncle Lightning with his wife, leaning on the railings of the second floor, and my gaze settles on theirs for a moment. It then turns to a full-blown glare, and I swear I could punch his face right now.

But what good would that be? They don't even know what happened. I sigh, softening, and my Aunt goes to hug me, asking what's wrong.

"It's Vivian," I choke. I need help. I don't know how to deal with this kind of rejection. I tell them everything.

"Oh, Franco," my aunt whispers, and presses my face to her shirt. "I"m so sorry."

My mother is then there, and my uncle fills her in. One look at her and I'm in her arms next, crying softly. She shushes me like a little boy, and anger, resentment and pain all flow out in the tears I'm shedding. It's not long until the rest of the family is out, and I'm not surprised Vivian isn't there.

When everything settles down, I go to soak myself in a warm bath. My mother helps me out because I'm numb. I guess she knows the feeling, because she stays there until I fall asleep in my room.


	9. Chapter 9

_Faithful **Mere**, in time, you'll find out, of course. xD Nice try. Thanks for awesomeness; keeps block at bay. _

_To my beloved **Pancake**, I'm sure Viv says thanks for that, but it's a full 360 since the last chapter. :O_

* * *

_**Chapter Nine**_

_(Vivian's POV)_

I look up into his beautiful brown eyes. I don't flinch away, because the way his gaze gleams is amazing.

I like Franco because he's sweet, understanding—even if he may be pushy sometimes—and amazing. Tall, with dark brown hair and eyes, and being left-handed are four of the many things I like about him. His cooking skills, his wide knowledge and more are other things that add to the sensuality of the situation.

Suddenly, he bends down to press his lips against mine. My nerve endings go into hypersensitivity, and goosebumps rise on my arms.

So that's how it feels like. My first kiss.

I move to settle on his lap because it's easier. My arms slide around his neck, my fingers snarling in his brown hair. I'm inexperienced, but instinct sort of takes over. And if that fails, Franco leads.

In stories I've read—yes, I read online stories and more books—I've seen and imagined how a kiss should be. So I open my lips and press my tongue against his maw.

His reaction is beautiful: a soft moan and the tightening of his grip around me. But I'm not prepared to meet the thing that lies behind his white teeth.

It's my turn to give a sound, my fingers tightening in his hair, and my hold to reality slips away.

It's a beautiful sensation when you're kissing. No problems, no worries, no past to worry about. I feel new and alive.

My eyes are shut in ecstasy, my pants heavy and my hold on him tight. And an impossible statement comes to mine: _I want him to take me now._

"Gianfranco!" a voice screams, and I almost fall backwards. My greatest fear has been realized.

Our parents have seen everything.

"Vivian!" my mother screeches. "That was uncalled for!"

"Er, I, er, I can explain!" I stammer. But I actually can't.

"But not in front of Ercilia!" Marlene calls, and I turn to see Ercilia there, brush in her hand.

"Hi," she says. "They weren't doing anything."

I flush. _How long has she been watching us?_

"But she was—"

"It was my fault," Ercilia lies. "I told her one of my friend's 'battle tactics'." She grinned. "Cool, eh?"

But as I looked at the four older people out by the door, I could see them angry. I want to shy away, to get out, because this is another problem I have never thought about.

"Calm down, people," the youngest of us says. "I'm here, remember? They wouldn't do such a thing to my face." While my parents were busy paying attention to Ercilia I lightly stepped off. "And besides, they're above legal age of consent. So it's pretty much legit."

I bow my head in shame, and I don't know why.

"I'm not stupid, mother, father," Franco spits. "I know what I'm doing."

They leave, and Franco follows, but not before stroking my cheek lovingly as he walks away. I flush steadily as the door closes with a gentle 'click'.

"You've got it bad, sister," Ercilia says. "But then again, so does he."

I can only nod. And then, the voices start.

"You had no right!" my father bellows. "You had no right to do that to my baby girl!"

Franco's voice is so much lower in tone that Ercilia and I have to go to the door and press our ears to listen.

"But if her former boyfriend did just that, would you flay him alive, too?" Franco says. "You saw how Vivian acted. You never heard her scream for help. She wasn't struggling in my hold."

_Seems legit,_ I think.

"Alright, what happened?" Margo asks as she joins in, and Franco tells the whole story.

"Ercilia is right," the girl-beside-me's mother says, and Ercilia gives a fist pump, happy. "She's well above the age of consent. However," the mother says, voice hard, "I can understand their concern because Vivian is a girl. She's sell innocent. And if anything happens to Ercilia—"

"—I will flay him alive," her husband growls low.

"So you're good, really, but don't try anything stupid."

"Just like that?" my mother calls. "Franco should stay away from her!"

There's a thud, and my butt hurts. I haven't realized I've fallen to the floor, because my heart is hurting like crazy again.

This time, it's _my parents_ that don't want me to love.

I'm crushed, to tell you the truth. I didn't want this to happen. But it did. And now I'm paying for it. This is how.

Ercilia calls out softly, then her voice hardens as concern floods over her. She helps me to the bed, but even I am powerless to stop the tears from falling. She holds me there like a big sister, her brush falling to the bed, as I cry into her PJ's.

It's so unfair, this life of mine. The only chance I get to find love again and my parents throw it away. I don't' want it. I don't want this life. I want to die if I am unable to love.

We don't listen to the rest of the conversation, but Franco suddenly comes in, and attends to me.

"Whoa, hey," he says, taking Ercilia's place. "What's the matter?"

"I'm so sorry I caused you so much trouble," I stutter out past my cries.

"What?" he asks in disbelief. "No, Viv, don't cry, it's alright," he continues soothingly, rubbing my back as he presses me onto his front.

"That's the last time I stick up for you guys," Ercilia says. "Next time, I should tell." She then leaves.

This time, he's stroking my hair softly as I cry, his face in my hair. All I can do is cry out my sorries—those of loving him, those of hurting him, those of hurting his parents, those of hurting mine, those of being a burden to Ercilia, those of having her parents defend my side.

"Are you alright?" he asks as I finally shut up. I can sit on my own, and I just nod numbly. "Why don't you take a bath already?" I just shake my head.

There's a moment of silence. "I love you," he says, and my heart just hurts again with a pang, but I don't wince, oddly enough.

"What's wrong?" he queries.

"It's our parents," I blurt. "It's like they don't want us to be together."

"That's not true!"

"You heard them," I say defensively. "You heard what they said when your parents called you."

"Oh, Vivian, that's not true," he says, gripping my hands in his.

"We can't be, Franco, if your parents won't let us."

"You're 25, Vivian!" he calls, voice ringing in my ears. "Your'e an adult."

"Tell that to them," I reply. I'll always be their little girl.

"No, Vivian, pelase—"

It hurts, but it's for the good of the family. "Go away, Gianfranco." I release his hands and push. "I don't want you."

He's choked up. Good. He needs to understand this. "Please," he whispers.

"_Go away._" I almost snarl, but he can't do anything. It's my last word.

"You can't always be bound by your parents, Vivian," he murmurs. "Sometimes you have to make a choice."

He then turns to leave, head down. As the door closes, tears spring from my eyes and streak down my face.

_What have I done?_


	10. Chapter 10

_Sorry for not uploading yesterday, **Mere**! D8 Not that I have block, but I called in sick yesterday. x(_

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_**Chapter Ten**_

_(Gianfranco's POV)_

I wake at a time of about nine in the morning. I'm late for breakfast. I scramble up from under the bedsheets, stumbling in the tangle instead. I crash to the floor, then stand immediately. My mother will be furious. I haven't made breakfast yet. But my mother comes up, comforting me. I look up to her, then memories come flooding my vision, and I'm suddenly sobbing my heart out once again. She helps me onto my desk, where a platter of breakfast has settled. I consume it hungrily, and she just tells me to stay put.

I don't really care. There's not really a reason for me to get out. At least, one I can't give. Ercilia comes by to comfort me. Except for her and my mother, nobody comes to bug me. I just sit there, thinking of memories with Vivian, crying when I have to. Ercilia stays there, not necessarily bored, but she's very willing to stay with me because I'm so unstable right now I might as well have killed myself when no one's there through electrocution.

I don't know what Vivian is doing right now, but I just want to think that everything that happened last night was something that never happened. I'd like to think that. But when I have to go to the bathroom to relieve myself, I see her, and my heart hurts with a pang as she turns away, no smile on her beautiful face. Anger and resentment fills me as I return to my desk.

Why did she have to be so convinced her parents control her world? Why do her parents dominate her world so? I don't really mind, because I'm old and still living with mine, but I don't really understand the concept of letting them do and decide everything for you. That's the only thing I can never understand, because as I have reached my twenties, my parents have given me the run of the home instead of me going off on my own. But it's like living on my own really: I have to handle the bills, most of the housework, do a living, cook for them, and more.

And then, I'm bored. So extremely bored. I go downstairs, hand-in-hand with my cousin, and we go tinker with the engines below the second floor. We have a good time, and hardly anyone bothers us. My mother and her cousin is happy that I'm happy, and brings us milk and cookies for a snack. My auntie stays with us, since we share her interest in engineering, and reminds her daughter to stay out of her father's engine. I can't help but crack up as, as if on cue, her father appears. She appears to complain, but the rest of us know she's just pretending. She's almost always like that, just joking around. She has a great sense of humor.

We share jokes and pick-up lines, my aunt more so, because they are so common in her home country I'm betting it's enough to keep me laughing all year round. My aunt tells and re-tells stories of her life, and her husband does as well. Ercilia goes 'eww' over their love story. My parents join in, and tell their love story, where it's my turn to go 'eww' for my cousin. We're all drinking and laughing that more of the family comes by. In this case, it's the McQueens, minus their daughter. That's when the discussion begins.

"Not to put a downer, Franco," my cousin starts, "but what are we going to do about Vivian?"

My smile disappears. "I don't know," I murmur, staring at my warm glass of milk.

"Well, it has to stop, for one," Sally says. "We're not like that, out to control her life. We know that. We were just concerned."

"She doesn't seem to know that," I say as I tip my glass back, rim to my lips.

"Does she let you talk to her?" Ercilia asks the parents of the girl in question.

"Yes, but not about that," Lightning says sadly. "She goes into hysterics every time."

I nod. She's as frustrated as I am. But I can't talk to her; her parents already proved that. What would happen if I did so?

"What would happen, I wonder, if I did so?" I say out loud out of mindlessness.

"Well, she might throw you out herself," Ercilia says. "I mean, screaming hysterics is not cool, cuz."

"But what would happen," I ask, "if I go with her parents and you?" I've turned to Ercilia. She's one of my better strategists, aside from my father.

"It seems like a plan, Franco," my father puts in.

"Not really," I say. "I mean, I don't want to invade her privacy or anything."

Suddenly, my uncle Lightning stares at me with such seriousness I almost flinch. "Do you really love her, Franco?"

I stare at him with the same amount of seriousness, maybe even more. "To the ends of the earth. From the bottom of my heart. Erm…." I stammer. "I mean, it's—I just—I…" I sigh. I can't seem to form a sentence whenever she's on my mind. "I love her, Uncle. I just do."

"Then if you do, why don't you go up there and convince her?" my mother asks fiercely.

"Because I want to respect her privacy," I say.

She shakes her head, frowning. "That's not the Gianfranco I know," she says. "The Gianfranco I know would tell the girl up there about the truth. He would convince her to love him again. The Gianfranco S. Bernoulli I know wouldn't just give up." She pauses, and I bow my head. "Where is that man, Franco? Where is my son, the man who wouldn't just give up?"

I looked up to my mother, and stared at each of the faces turned to me, and I can feel new determination in my chest. "But how?" I ask. That's another problem. I can't just waltz in there!

"Everything will come to you, Franco," my father said. "Everything will come to you, just as naturally as you can handle an F1 behind the wheel."

I took heart in that, and left the garage, setting my unfinished glass of milk down on a table. I dashed right up the stairs from the garage to the second floor. I burst open the door that led to the room, and found her there, holding her legs close. She looked up at me, then turned away, resting her chin on her knees. I shut the door, and settled beside her. I didn't know what to say, but I believe I should start slow.

"They told me they never meant…that," I start, voice low. "They told me they never set out to control your life."

She turns away from me as I look at her, then sniffs.

"Are you cold?" I ask. Ercilia sometimes shared her mother's allergies, and I was just acting on instinct. Vivian doesn't react, and I don't push it.

"Was it always like that," I start, "that your parents tell you everything?"

She nods. Gentleness is my only weapon now.

"You never tried even leading your school life?" I ask. She shakes her head.

"Why not?" She shakes her head again.

"Then maybe it's time to start leading your life now," I murmur, leaning closer, my right hand to the bed covers for support.

"I just don't want to," she squeaks. Or at least, she says in a voice like that.

"Why not?"

"I told you, Franco," she says, and I can her her voice tightening. "I don't want to."

"But I'll be right here with you," I reassure her. "Just as Ercilia and my parents and her parents are, too.

"Nobody expects you to lead your life alone. There are other people around you. You can't depend on them, that's given, but you can trust them to help you on your journey." I scoot closer, my hand on her shoulder now. "You can trust me the help you, Viv," I whisper.

She turns her head to me, her beautiful, blue-green eyes meeting mine. She stared at me for a few moments, and hope flared in my heart. She was going to listen.

"But what if I'm led down the wrong path again, Franco?" she asks softly, sadness still in her gaze. "What if you lead me down the wrong path, just like…he…did?"

I understand her, because her former 'boyfriend' turned her down. She was happy then, I realized, and after she had been rendered defenseless everything had gone downhill. She'd been hiding ever since.

"I won't," I say, staring fiercely into her eyes. "I won't, I promise you."

I think she takes heart in that, because after a moment, she presses forward to kiss me.


	11. Chapter 11

_**Chapter Eleven**_

_(Craig's POV)_

"Are we there yet?" I ask stupidly. It's fucking cold in Italy!

"Just wait," the man in green growls, and we round a turn. "Ah. We're here."

I scrutinize the big, luxurious home. "How do you know?"

The man points to the rear bumper of a bright red car. I glance down and see _Ka-Ciao_written as a bumper sticker.

"Stupid teenagers," he grumbles, and I just roll my eyes.

At least no one seems home.

We hide the car first; it's the first thing that should be noticed. We then break in quietly, and there doesn't seem to be some security alarm. And I don't believe my eyes as we enter.

The house is _huge!_ It's not even really a house; talk about a large ballroom for some sort of living room, even if it doesn't even really have any furniture in it. The stairs are grand and two-way, the rails ornate and golden. The chandelier is bigger than my parents' room.

"Hey, Craig," my companion hisses, snapping me out of my trance. "In here."

The plan is to hide in a closet and torment the family. Sounds stupid, but this guy has the equipment for it.

I say he's stupid, but he's convinced me, I guess.

"Don't you want your girlfriend back?" That sends me flying for Italy.

Ever since I found that Alessa was pregnant I turned tail, and I've been searching for Vivian. Alessa can't seem to keep her hands off me, and, well, when I got drunk, well…. I mean, Alessa told me she loves me, that she respects me. Fuckslut only wanted me, as in, physically.

I was so stupid to dump Vivian. She was the sweetest girl I ever wanted, and materialism only made me stupid. Alright, so I wanted Alessa for her bod, too, but it makes no sense to me to just take what you want without my permission.

We hide in one of the bigger closets, and shut up for a few hours. It's uncomfortable, but I don't make a sound. All I want is for Vivian to be mine again.

* * *

_(Alessa's POV)_

I'm in luxurious, romantic Italy with my friends. I've brought along with me my favorite Aston Martin, and have booked a suite in a hotel in Genoa. We drive to this address, and I find a beautiful, more-expensive-and-luxurious car right in front of me. My jaw drops.

"How can that car be much better than my 6 series?" I shriek. My friends nod assent, and my anger is high as I leave my car to storm inside.

The house is not a house. It's bigger than mine. And I thought Daddy told me our house was the biggest? Ours doesn't have a ballroom! Ours doesn't have a giant chandelier or windows that stretch higher than our first floor! I'm seething.

"So, what's the plan?" my friend asks.

"We hide."


	12. Chapter 12

_This is where the fun begins._

_Oh, I get your picture, **Mere**. xD I see what you did there._

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_**Chapter Twelve**_

_(Vivian's POV)_

We are at a five-star hotel, trying to have a family dinner at its large, luxurious buffet, which isn't a regular pleasure for me and my parents. I thought it would be nice to share school stories with my new secondary family, and I do so with gusto, more than I've ever shown in the last decade. My parents are happy with me, and with the rest of the Bernoullis and Caminos. And I'm happy.

We dine over wine, traditional and modern dishes alike, tasting various dishes from the buffet. Waters and waitresses attend to us. Chefs try entertaining us. But there's no comparison to the request a lot of people there made.

People started requesting Gianfranco to cook, right in front of them. He was flattered, but we encouraged him to do a flambé, 'one of his better dishes and techniques', as the customers have said. I've never seen Franco do so before, although I have seen how flambéing is done.

I myself am terrified of fire. I told Franco myself. But as he shows the table next to us how his style of flambéing is—believe me, it's so much more different than those you see by regular chefs—I'm more interested than frightened, especially when it's Franco who's cooking. The kitchen sends him raw ingredients for a secret recipe of his at his request, along with equipment they've kept for special flambé occasions and other kitchen utensils, and he starts with just rolled sleeves. He looks much better without a toque or an apron, although I can't ignore the fact he may get burned. No such thing.

His movements are smooth and elegant, but each flick of the wrist or flow of the arm is not without importance. That much I can see. His face is serious, but smiles at the amazement he sees in his audience that has crowded around our table. People from all around watch him, and some are filming. I know no one else can copy his expertise at this, or his recipe, because the ingredients are in transparent bowls, unmeasured. Tonight, he relies on the weight in his hands and the length of each stalk. It's brilliant.

With everything in the pan he grabs the bottle of alcohol. Shaking the metal utensil he lifts it off the burner, douses the meal in liquor, sets down the bottle, grabs a lighter, and ignites the fumes. He winces, leaning slightly backward as the liquid ignites, and the audience claps, exhilarated by the display, as Franco continues tossing the seafood and vegetables. As the fire dies down he plates it, and beckons me toward him with a smile. Ercilia pushes me forward, and I get to taste his sample first. I take a fork, spear a few chunks, and blow before I take it in my mouth. My eyes widen, and I stop moving as the flavor seeps into my taste buds.

There are no words.

The bits have been sautéed to perfection. The shrimp is soft and hot, the vegetables the same, their individual tastes

I look up at him, astonished, and his smile only grows wider.

"Good enough?" he asks as I swallow.

"Not even close," I say, frowning, and his smile fades. "It's even better!" I finish, and he bends down to kiss me. I'm a little embarrassed as the crowd hoots and whistles, but my hands reach for his hair unconsciously.

"Yes, I guess it's good enough," he says, brushing his thumb over his lip as he grins at me, and the crowd laughs. I know I'm flushing, but he pulls me close to kiss my hair.

He then beckons the chefs forward, shows them how to plate it, and lets them do the work, sitting beside me with the rest of the family. I glance at my parents, and they smile at me. I look down sheepishly with a smile on my face, and Franco wonders why I'm 'down'.

"_Down?_" I repeat in disbelief. "Franco, how can you net see that I'm so happy right now…." I trail off, because he's smiling, and besides, Ercilia is watching. He instead presses his lips to my temple, and I lean against him, his arm around my shoulders.

The dinner ensues. I weaken at the dessert, and stuff my face with cake and chocolate. We are entertained a little more, and Franco entertains a few more people for a few more minutes, then we go home, stuffed, happy and exhausted by the day's events.

"Did you see how he handled the fire? Amazing!" Ercilia gushed as her voice echoed around the large, ballroom-like room.

"It was nothing," Franco said, flattered, patting his cousin's back as they entered to open the lights for us.

"Nothing?" she screamed. "How could you say that?"

Franco rolled his eyes at me, and I laughed. He offered me his hand, and I took it, not knowing that he'll twirl me around, _twice_, before pulling me into his arms. I giggle happily.

Everyone settles in for the evening, and as usual, I'm waiting for Ercilia to finish her nightly bath. But I don'y hurry; Franco's got me occupied. We lose track of time, and notice that Ercilia is already done and waiting for _us_ to finish, watching us right from the other side of the room on her bed. She's smiling as we look up at her.

"Do you know how envious I am of you both right now?" she asks, blushing.

Franco grins. "I'm sure you'll find someone, Ercilia," he says, and moves to hug her tightly. "But remember I'm still here, and that I'll love you," he continues as she wraps her arms around him.

Ah, family love.

Suddenly, we hear a commotion outside. It's muffled, but there's a commotion outside. We head out the door and find Mom outside the door to their room.

"Vivian, do you know if your father has anything to hide?" she asks me. I wonder why. "Because the door is locked."

I frown. "Not that I know of," I say, and Franco presses his ear to the door. Ercilia does too, and Franco doesn't push her away, because even with her headset, she's got the best ears in the house, except with her headset on.

"Looks like there's someone else in there," Franco grunts.

My mother is beside herself with worry at the statement. There's no one else but us, and I take into account who's here and who's not at Franco's order as he listens for more inside. Everyone seems to be here, except for Dad.

He tries the keys handed by his dad. I can hear the lock open, but even with Franco's strength, the door won't budge. Frustrated, he bolts away to the garage, and comes back with an ax.

"I loved this door," he grumbles begrudgingly as he swings the blade. The satisfying crack of wood hits my ears as the blade penetrates the paint, and the familiar clink of metal against metal. He's trying for the doorknob, then the hinges. When they're off, he gives the door a massive kick, and the door falls to reveal a naked man kneeling over another.

My father's face appears as he turns his head. He is gagged, his hands held behind his back. He's also stripped to the skin, and I know he's shivering. The man kneeling behind him turns to us, and his smile fades as Franco, Francesco and Miguel move forward to apprehend him. Margo is stunned enough to hold on to her older cousin. My mother is stunned. Marlene's mouth is covered in shock. Ercilia grips my arm in fear as she sees her cousin, father and uncle jump into a rage. I can only watch, also shocked.

Franco punches the man in the lower back, making him double over. Francesco and Miguel grab the stranger at the arms and waist just a second before the man can recover, pulling him away from my father, and my mother rushes to Dad to take away his gag and help him. Franco moves away to apprehend a second stranger. Only, it's no stranger.

It's Craig.

My eyes widen, and I feel myself faint. Struggles and shouts of profanity leave the naked man's mouth, but Craig, in his clothes, just grunts and calls out in pain as Franco wrestles with him, trying to get Craig's arms behind him as the man did to my father. When Franco has achieved that, he sets Craig lying on the floor. In the near-dim, I can see Franco's muscles from under his skin at his arms and wrists. I don't know how hard he is holding Craig, but I know for sure it should hurt.

"Let me go!" Craig calls out as Franco straddles his back for submission. "I tell you, I've got no idea why this guy even raped McQueen!"

Tears of hurt and years of betrayal spring form my eyes as my right hand comes up to cover my mouth, and I make a sound that makes my old 'boyfriend' look up straight at me.

"Vivian," he says fervently, reverently, as if I'm his salvation. "Vivian, please," he says. "Tell him to let me go."

I look up to Franco, who's looking at me, and his features soften slightly as my face registers.

"Viv, come on," Craig pleads with me. "I tell you, I've got no idea why he did that to your father."

"But you were with him!" I screech. "You came here with him, didn't you?"

"I just wanted to see you again," he replied aloud. "All I wanted, Vivian, was to be with you again."

My heart melts at his words, and I wipe the tears from my eyes. I leave Ercilia. I kneel down to stroke the face I once thought as the handsomest I've ever seen, to stroke the cheek of the one I loved. He smiles at me, and from the corner of my vision I see Franco stiffen.

It seems like a dream, meeting Craig again. I mean, it's like nothing ever happened. I'm so choked up with emotion I don't see my salvation coming.

Oh, don't get me wrong when I say 'salvation'. Because there's someone to save my dream from becoming reality.

"_And just what have you done with my boyfriend, you bitch?_" I hear a familiar voice, and turn to see a pregnant woman, even if the bulge is still kinda small.

Alessandria.


	13. Chapter 13

_**Mere**__, I don't have to do that, because it's in the ratings, isn't it? O.o I mean, it is rated Teen, after all. I rarely use those kinds of things, so it's really VERY minor._

_**Pancake**__, I miss youuu! D8 When you read this, review!_

_Oh, filler chapters. *facepalm*_

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_**Chapter Thirteen**_

_(Gianfranco's POV)_

"I loved this door," I growled as I swung the ax. It hit the wood with a crack, and it almost felt like music.

I heard some muffled cries in there, I'm sure of it. And I don't know who would dare get into the Bernoulli home, but I'm sure it's to hurt one of us. So I better break in ASAP.

I hit the hinge again and again, and soon it falls to the ground with a thud and a clink. The door still doesn't budge. I think of it falling down on me when I see the hinges, and aim to cut away the metal from the wood. I do so with ease, and with a kick it falls back. I drop the ax to the floor to survey what happened in the room.

There's this naked man standing behind another, banging his waist over the guy in front. The guy in the back turns to us with a mustache and dark hair. I don't understand. Who is this? But as the man in front turns to us, in the dim I see his blond hair and panicked blue eyes.

_Uncle Lightning._

Not seen me in a rage? Well, tonight, my family will see me now.

I not only stride across the room, my footsteps thudding onto the wooden floor, but I smack the man with such force in the back he bends over, and my father and Miguel takes my back, tackling the older man together. I turn to see if he has an accomplice. There, in the dim, I see a younger guy in a vest, shirt and jeans, cowering in the dark. I instantaneously dash over to meet him in a tackle. He struggles in my hold, and I can hear yells of pain and grunts going against me. But I'm stronger. I know that.

But he's a formidable opponent. He whacks me in the head, but I've survived more whacks in the cranium. It's only a moment of recoil, but it's enough for him to stand. I grab his wrist instinctively, and he plows me over in the force I pull him. We land on the floor, and tussle. He tries to overpower me in the instinct of male domination, but instinct alone cannot make you win. I try going for his wrists, and it's good. I get a chance to grab his wrists as he flails, and force them onto his back. He cries out, but it's no good; I have won. I send him down to the floor, and I sit on his back, hands still on his wrists. It's the most perfect position for submission; he can barely throw me off, unless he knows a kick to my back can free him. But he's stupid enough not to know that, because he stops.

Yes, he stops. But why? The need for dominance earlier was strong, but why stop now, at its virtual height? That's when I see he's looking up at Vivian, begging her for me to free him.

My gaze turns to Vivian. Will she bend to his pleas?

"Viv, come on," the guy begs her. "I tell you, I've got no idea why he did that to your father."

"But you were with him!" Vivian screams at him. "You came her with him, didn't you?"

For a second I wondered what this guys was even doing here if he's got nothing to do with my uncle's punishment.

"I just wanted to see you again," he replies, voice velvet soft, maybe even loving. "All I wanted, Vivian, was to be with you again."

She softens, and tells Ercilia to stay where she was. Hurt springs in my chest as she moves forward to caress the cheek of the guy under me. What will she do next? Kiss him? I can see the guy below smile up at her.

One voice startles me out of my skin.

"_And just what have you done with my boyfriend, you bitch?_"

I turn to see a pregnant woman, fury in her gaze, with her friends standing behind her.


	14. Chapter 14

_My beloved __**Pancake **__has returned! ^0^ *luffluffluffluff* Well, to explain, I was thinking the fire would flare up as it ignites, reaching up to Franco's face. n_nU Sorry I didn't elaborate that up for you~_

_And __**Mere**__, I will still keep you hanging as I figger out the ending to this and TCUASP. D8 :trollface:_

_And to you Franco lovers out there, I'm terribly sorry there isn't really much on Franco's POV, but I really liked doing Viv's. xD_

* * *

_**Chapter Fourteen**_

_(Vivian's POV)_

"Alessandria?" I call in disbelief.

"What?" she hisses past clenched teeth.

"What are you doing here?"

"I heard you and Craig got together again," she snarls. "_My _Craig, at that!"

"But you never even cared what I thought!" Craig called out from under my touch. He struggled to get up from under Franco. "Oh, for heaven's sake, get off me, damn you!" he called, and I pushed Franco away. The Italian did nothing to go against me, and fell to the floor on his butt as Craig stood defiantly.

"This is why I came back for Vivian!" he roared. I'm kinda touched at that. "I came back for her because she was better for me the whole time!" He glanced at me with such love I don't think I can understand. "She's sweet and loyal. She was never in for the sex, or the fun of being in a relationship. She was always there for me, no matter what I did to her, no matter what happened. And I can never find another girl like her again in even a million years." He paused to kneel beside me. "Because I love her."

His voice was so fervent and so loving that my fingers laced with his, and I didn't resist as he pulled me close to kiss my hair. I don't think I've ver felt so happy in my life compared to having Craig back in my life.

"But you're pregnant!" Ercilia calls, and I turn to Craig with partial horror. That's one fact I don't think I've considered in my ecstasy.

"I was drunk, and she…did me," he said softly, and was that remorse in his tone? "I swear, Vivian, I never wanted to touch her like that."

Memories then come flooding in my vision, and I saw how he drooled at the girl on her first day.

"But why did you leave me in the first place?" I ask, my paradise fading.

"I was just trying to meet her, and you overreacted," he said. "Maybe I did so, too, but I never meant to cause you that, Vivian."

I trusted Craig once, I can trust him again. I smiled, nodding in understanding.

"But Vivian, what about me?" I heard Franco say softly. I turn to him, and I can see the hurt in his eyes as he sat there, legs splayed and half-folded, his arms over his knees, looking up at me past his long hair, hiding his eyes in the shadows.

Hurt is in my chest as I remember what had happened earlier tonight. His display of love, his warm, fervent kisses, his concern over my father, the strength he showed for the rescue of my father. And I also remember what he's done in the past few days. His understanding of me. His declarations of love. His support for me. His support for my family. His…drive to comfort me when I'm sad. Things like that. And I remember. I remember painfully.

"Franco…" I whisper sadly as I look from him to Craig and back again.

So this is what everything has boiled down to. It's not my father. It's not me and Franco, or Franco and my family, or me and Franco's family. It's not the celebration of Christmas or New Year. It's not even me. It's Craig and Franco. It boils down to me choosing between the man I have loved in my teenage years, and the man I have come to love in a few days.

I look to Craig and remember things. I remember following him in the halls of the school while he hung with his friends. I was left out. He would push my concern away. I cared, but did he?

I look to Franco and remember, too, and this time more clearly than I remember things with Craig. I remember him following my footsteps, his eyes full of concern when a large pile of snow fell over my head. I remember his friends who have come for a vacation, and he introduced me to them, his arm always around me. I remember him beckoning me to sample his special dish, and kissing me in public as a display of affection. His expression wasn't smug, but it was a loving as loving could be, and I knew the crowd could see that. He kissed my hair, breathing its sweet scent. When he returned to sit beside me and saw my expression, he thought I was down, and I saw the deepest concern I've never even seen.

Craig has never pulled me close. Craig has never had the intention of even bringing his face close to mine. But Franco has gone through lengths for me. And I loved every inch of Franco more than I have ever understood Craig.

I look to Craig again, and shake my head. I then rise to move to Franco, kneeling once more to cup his face in my hands.

"You have shown me things no one has ever shown me before, Franco," I murmur, eyes smiling. "And I will never, ever forget what times we have shared."

He raises his face, and at that I permit myself to kiss him for the firs time, and for the first time, there is confidence in my heart.

I swear I can hear people crying or sniffling as I help Franco to his feet, my gaze not deviating from his. He smiles at me, and presses his lips to my forehead, his arms around my waist.

"Vivian," Craig calls softly, and I can hear the hurt in his voice.

"I'm sorry, Craig," I say, moving to him to hold his hands for the last time. "I truly am. But we can't be; I love Franco, and…." My voice trails away. I glance at the man that stands a few feet behind me, right into his beautiful brown and green gaze, and turn back to Craig. "I mean, you already have Alessandria; I can't possibly accept in my heart that you're the one, that you love me form the bottom of your heart. Only because you gave your love to someone else first."

I look up to once-beautiful blue, and see sorrow there. He bows his head, , and his hands, linked with mine, rise, probably to kiss my fingers. Only he doesn't. He pushes me back forcefully, and I am thrown feet from where I stood.

"That's not fair, Vivian!" he roars at me, tears streaming down his cheek, and lunges for Franco.

He's no match for the Italian, although I can see Franco take damage. There are sounds of combat from my side in the dim light, and I see them fighting over me. Craig will not go down without a fight.

"She loved me first!" he spits at Franco, and knocks his opponent back with a backfist. "She was my choice of mate, and you just had to appear to make it complicated!"

Almost as soon as the fight starts, Alessandria jumps into the fray. "You can't do that to Craig!" she screeches, and I push myself off the floor so fast I get up just in time to push her away from the mass of fists and elbows.

"You don't belong in this fight, Alessa," I hiss at her. "Go home."

"Oh yeah? And since when have you been a fighter?" She pushes me with such force I fall to the wooden floor. Franco calls my name, distracted, and he's sent flying as Craig aims a backfist at his jaw. Both opponents advance upon us.

"You're a bitch you know that?" she spits at me. "You go off with some hot guy when someone's on your tail." She cocks her head to the side. "That's not fair, is it?"

"At least I'm not a boyfriend stealer!" I snarl at her, trying to get up, but she only pins me down, her legs straddling my waist.

"Well, look who just got smart," she hissed. "At least I love Craig, that's for sure."

"Why did you want him then?" I ask her furiously. "Why did you want to get knocked up?"

"Because I wanted to share more than just love with him!" she spat after a moment.

I frowned at her. "That doesn't seem legitimate enough," I say.

"At any rate, you're dead." She brought out a pocket knife flicking its blade slightly. "And what better way than to kill you in front of your parents?"

The sounds of combat stopped, and I glanced at the men's direction. They were frozen in place.

"Alessa?" Craig called softly. "What are you doing?"

"Just something that'll keep me with you forever," she crooned. "And this girl is a minor obstruction in that way."


	15. Chapter 15

_I'd like to thank **Mere** for this request; I've had such fun doing this story, although there have been so many twists and turns._

_I'd also like to thank my beloved **Pancake** and of course, **Mere**, for supporting me through the block I am now suffering. x.x_

_Thank you to **MissCarrera** for letting me use her character, Vivian Jane Carrera-McQueen; she was really fun to do, although I never really had an inkling on her personality, so I just went with erratic but assertive. Any of you didn't figure that out? Yes? No? At any rate, it's there in plain text. ^-^_

* * *

_**Chapter Fifteen**_

_(Vivian's POV)_

"No!" Craig roars, and lunges for Alessa. "You can't do that to her!"

"I can if she'll keep you away from me!" she screeched, slashing with her knife, and I can see it hit his cheek.

He staggers backward, and in a flash I jump to his aid just as Franco tries wrestling the knife away from Alessa. Grabbing a random piece of cloth I press it against his cheek, and he sits up to watch Franco and Alessa. Finally, the weapon is out of her hands, but it's not without consequences: Franco has himself small cuts to the arms. Marlene rushes in with a cloth, too, and tries for the biggest cuts. The pregnant woman's eyes are still filled with hatred as Craig has turned against her, united with a common enemy.

"You don't deserve me then, Alessa, if you wanted to kill someone I love," Craig hisses. "Just go, and I never want to have a part of the upbringing of that kid of yours, one I never intended to create in the first place."

Her fury turns to sorrow. "But Craig, I—"

"Just go away, Alessa," he murmurs, turning his head away from her. "Just go away."

She reaches for him, but I slap her hand away. She tries punching me in the face, but I give her one. She's hurt too many people tonight, and it's about time she had a taste of her own medicine. I glare at her one moment more, and return to tending to Craig's cut. I hear sounds, and I see Ercilia apprehending Alessa, tying up her hands with any stringlike object(except wiring) to her wrists and ankles. She then returns to see to her cousin, then to her father. All the while Alessa hissed profanities, but Margo effectively shut her up with a blanket over her mouth.

"I can't stand profanity," she snarled under her breath.

"I thought you didn't love me?" Craig murmured.

"I love you, Craig, but I'm not _in_ love with you," I say. "There's a huge difference."

He nods, and Franco kneels by me to see to my friend. "He's going to need some attention," he says, standing. "I'll drive you to the hospital."

Craig looks at him incredulously. "How can you still be friendly with me after I assaulted you?"

He turns to look at Craig, blinking, his expression calm. "I can understand you, Craig," he says, "and I have no quarrel with that. There's no reason for me to hold a grudge against you, although we might not be more than acquaintances yet."

My eyes gleam in happiness. At least Franco has the initiative to settle things first. He's more mature than I gave him credit for.

Craig only nods. "He's a good man, Viv," he says to me. "I'm glad you're in his hands."

I smile. "Me too." I help him up, and have him hold the cloth to his face. I then turn to see the naked stranger, now cloaked with a blanket.

"So, who's this?" I ask my father.

"Chick Hicks," he growls. "Always wanted my glory, right from the start."

"Are you hurt?" I ask, kind of worried as I hug my dad.

"I'll be fine," he mumbled in my hair. "But I'll never be able to get over this, I guess."

I realize that this man has given my father an emotional scar, and rage fills my veins. I kiss my father's cheek, and stride over to the man with just a lancet over him, held by Miguel and Francesco.

"So, scar my father, eh?" I hiss softly, close to his face, tracing my fingertips along his shoulder. He grins as I smile up at him, and as my hand reaches his abdomen, I quickly give a punch at point blank range. He crumples to the ground, arms to his belly as the two men release him.

Franco laughs out loud, and brings me close to kiss my hair. "I never knew you could throw a good jab," he says ecstatically into my gold-brown locks.

I grin up at him as his head dips down to kiss me softly.

"So, what do we do with her?" I ask, eyeing Alessa behind him.

"Oh, take her to a police station," he says. "They'll take care of the rest."

"And Craig?"

He looks to the man I formerly called 'love'. "I won't press charges," he murmured. "But he needs medical attention."

"Oh, right," I say, and pull away. His lips make a pout, and I giggle slightly.

And then, we're in the hospital, having taken the family SUV they keep in the garage just for cruises through the countryside when they want to. Driving the California through rough terrain is something no one wants. Everyone is with us, all except for that Chick Hicks guy and Alessa; Francesco and Miguel dropped them off at the nearest police station. Craig receives at least fifteen small stitches to the face, while Franco only receives a few bandages at worst, as his cuts are merely minor and require little attention.

"Well, it's about time I went home," Craig says, leaping to his feet.

"What?" I say immediately. "So soon?"

"Yup." He kisses my hair softly, and Franco, right beside me, doesn't even flinch. "Got job-hunting to do."

I grin. "Any chance I'll see you again?"

"Probably," he replies, smiling back. "But maybe I'll steer clear until, well, until things settle."

I laugh softly. "I suppose."

"Need a drive to the airport or some money?" Franco offers.

"Erm…I could use a bit of flight money," he says sheepishly, taking a look into his wallet, revealing a few twenties. "Sorry; I don't really have much on me."

Franco stands to pull out his, and hands over fifty euros. My eyes widen. That's a lot of money.

"Oh, I can't possibly—"

"If it's for a friend of Viv's, it's probably worth it," he says. As Craig takes the money, Franco holds out his hand. Craig looks up, and sees Franco with a smile on his face. Craig's expression is bewildered. "I make a very formidable enemy," Franco warns him, still smiling. "I prefer to remember you as a friend of mine and Viv's."

Craig relaxes to a smile, and shakes Franco's hand in a truce. "Thanks, dude."

"No," Franco says, his other hand covering the back of Craig's. "Thank you," he continues fervently, and once again, Craig is bewildered. "You were the only one that can save and repair Vivian's past. And for that I thank you."

Craig nods, smiling gratefully. Franco releases his hand, and we bid my old friend good-by as he leaves for the airport.

"So," Franco starts as we all head for the parking lot, "what do you plan to do with me next?"

I grin. "I don't really know," I say. "Since we've declared ourselves each other's, may as well wait for the next step."

He cocks his head to the side. "What's that?"

I smile as I flash my mother's old engagement ring. It was kind of an heirloom, you could say; my mother thought it was pretty on me, just on my middle finger. A band of gold that matched my father's hair that read inside, _To my angel, my life, my love._

"What's that?" my mother asks as she peers past my shoulder. "Oh, it's my old engagement ring."

Franco grins, and pulls me in for another passionate kiss.

* * *

_If you guys want another marriage chapter go ahead and request, but I shall put it on another story. xD __Remember to check out my profile for updates! ^-^_


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